Puppet Tears
by Kelly Noel
Summary: I wonder how long it takes for the blood of my mother to wash away from the soiled ground, how long it takes to repair the knife my father used to protect himself against the blade of a warrior’s sword, how long it will take for the scars I have to heal


Puppet Tears  
  
Kelly Noel  
  
A/n:  
  
I've taken a new approach to writing, personally I think I accidentally poisoned all my humor muses, since I'm taking a break to Never Ever, Ever? And you know how bad I am at continuing things… heh. ^_^U  
  
One shots seem to be fun though…   
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh King of Games.  
  
~*~  
  
People are savage creatures. I'd like to know who placed them above the rest of the world.   
  
As I sit here on the broken steps of what was once my house, I wonder. I wonder how long it takes for the crimson colored blood of my mother to wash away from the soiled ground. I wonder how long it takes to repair the broken knife my father used to protect himself against the sleek, sharp blade of a warrior's bronze sword. I wonder how long it will take for the scars below my eye to finally heal, the scars I got when I fled for my life and hid within a deserted ally-way. I sit here and try to contemplate the massacre of my city, at least 99 are dead. At least.  
  
My sister has gone missing, she's not dead, this I know for a fact. I found her doll yesterday as I scrounged the rubble of our fallen home searching for something to fill my aching stomach. I remember when I was slightly younger and I had given her the doll, its sad blue eyes were hardly visible beneath the wisps of silver hair that hid its pale face.  
  
"Oni-chan?", she asked as her chubby hands fingered the doll's saddening face. I was too preoccupied with removing a stubborn splinter from my foot to look down, but I acknowledged her anyway.  
  
"Yes, Kisara?" I mumbled, trying to get my fingers to fit around the sliver of wood. I grew aggravated as my fingers slipped and it was then I promised myself I would never be so careless as to let this happen again.  
  
"Why is she so sad?" Her own blue eyes stared at me, causing me to remove my glance from my foot to her. I don't know what special ability she possessed, but no matter what the situation she could always make her problem more important than my own.  
  
"It's just a doll, it can't be sad. Baka." I said as she handed the doll to me.  
  
"But she's crying!" She argued, shoving the doll closer to my face.  
  
"How can a doll cry?" I taunted, putting it back into her hands and sending her on her way. I remember her pouty face as she turned around and stubbornly placed it in my lap.  
  
"When you can see her tears I'll take the doll back and make her happy ." With that she quickly grabbed the protruding slit of wood from my foot, pulled it out with ease, and went on her way. I blinked confused at how ridiculous Kisara was being and the fact that she had managed to take out the splinter I'd been struggling with for hours in just a matter of moments.   
  
  
  
"Baka…" I growled tightening my grip on my poor craftsmanship. "BAKA KISARA!" I shouted as she ran off out of my view. Her taunting laughter angered me and I was always one with a short temper. Stamping my foot down I felt a sharp pain. Another splinter. "KUSO!" I didn't bother with the doll, but rather, shoved it in my pocket. Until I lost it somewhere in the house and hadn't found it until recently.  
  
So now I sit here all alone, unless, of course, you count the doll. Staring at it I see what I saw before, a emotionless doll with blue rocks for eyes and strands of my own silver tresses for her hair. Her body was merely some sun bleached burlap sewn together with a bit of worn out thread, stuffed with grass, and the only thing she wore was a piece of cloth carelessly wrapped around her fragile frame. No tears.  
  
"When you can see the tears, I'll take the doll back and make her happy..."  
  
I know Kisara couldn't have died, not yet at least. She never came back to claim her doll and that would be my reason to survive. Standing up I walked into the house again for the last time. Grabbing my late father's coat, at the moment it was too big for me, but I'd eventually grow into it, and his broken knife, I pocketed the doll once again and began my journey to finding Kisara and to understand how this doll could cry…  
  
~*~  
  
A/n:  
  
You're probably wondering why I think Kisara and Zoku-ou Bakura are related. It's a little theory of mine. You wanna debate it with go ahead, I love arguing! ^_^ And cookies… I love cookies too.  
  
One shots are fun! Now I don't have to worry about updating or anything… what a relief!  
  
Now I can get back to having the flu. -_-U Mmmm cough medicine…  
  
~End~ 


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